


Where We Live

by emynn



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Reflection, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 01:08:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3432470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emynn/pseuds/emynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>I made this place for you. A place for you to love me. If this isn’t the kingdom then I don’t know what is.</i> Set immediately following 5 x 13.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where We Live

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Britin 30 Day Challenge - Prompt #2: "Snow and Dirty Rain" by Richard Siken. You'll find a number of allusions to that poem in this story, and if you haven't read it yet, I highly encourage that you do.

Brian opens his eyes ever so briefly, barely more than a blink, and immediately feels regret course through him. 

He can’t see Justin, but he can see his thigh, can see the bruise forming on it from where he had gripped him so tightly the night before, holding him down as he sucked him off, holding him down as though maybe he wouldn’t fade away. 

He slams his lids shut, refusing to look any longer. But in that moment, all his senses are heightened. He hears Justin zipping up his carryon, smells the citrus of his shampoo as he leans down to drop a kiss to the top of Brian’s head. And he feels … _Christ_ , does he feel. 

Brian wants to grab him around the waist, drag him back onto the bed, pound into him and mash his lips against his and writhe together until they’re hot and sticky with sweat and come, filthy and _alive_. He wants to trace meandering lines on Justin’s back with his tongue, kiss him softly as he whispers into his ears words he’s only recently begun to voice. He wants Justin to _remember_ this, remember all he was, remember all they had and have and will have.

He doesn’t, though, because this is what they agreed to. They’d said their goodbyes the night before. And so Brian keeps his eyelids sealed shut, even as he wishes somehow the bed could swallow him up and spit him out in some other universe that would reveal this had all been a dream within a dream.

But that’s not who they are. That’s not who they’ve ever been. They’re not ones to live in fairy tales. They’re the ones who storm out onto the battlefield, the ones who go on offense when the monsters strike. And when those monsters get too close, when they’re threatened, they’re the ones who hold each other even tighter, because two intertwined is stronger than one standing alone. It’s a lesson that took Brian years to learn, but Justin’s always been a patient teacher, or, as Brian used referred to him, a persistent son of a bitch who doesn’t know when to back the fuck off.

Brian only opens his eyes when he hears the door slide shut, and it’s much longer before he moves. He feels like a stranger in his own home, this loft that was his for years before Justin entered it. It’s fucking pathetic. This is how he’d always known it would end. A spark turned to a warm hearth to a forest fire, leaving behind charred trees and scorched fields. And here he still stands in the middle of it all, and somehow, everything’s changed. 

It’s not his clock that sits on his desk, ticking the minutes away. It’s the present Justin got him to celebrate Kinnetik’s launch. Justin told him to take to his office, but instead Brian decided to use it to time how long Justin could last as he brought him off with just his words. After that night, which Justin described as “exquisite torture,” it become a game between them. The next morning, Justin took pleasure in hiding the clock, and told Brian he could only pull that kind of stunt again once he found it. The game evolved from there. Once Brian hid it on top of the refrigerator, well out of Justin’s line of sight, and it took him nearly a month to find it. That night, Brian put a cock ring on him and sucked and licked and stroked him for three hours before he finally slid into him.

It’s not a chair in front of the window. It’s _Justin’s_ chair, the one he curled up in with his sketchpad, gazing at nothing and everything all at once. It’s where Brian would find him after they got in an argument and Justin was pissed off enough to not want to be in the bedroom but wasn’t quite livid enough to storm out. It’s where Brian would wrap his arms around him and kiss his cheek and try to sneak a peek at Justin’s work. It’s where Justin would immediately catch onto Brian’s subterfuge and shake his head with a little laugh and hold up his sketchpad so Brian could have a completely unobstructed view. There’s genius in that chair, Brian knows it.

And it’s not even a blanket that’s strewn over the sofa. It’s _their_ blanket, the one they bought together after Brian burned a hole through his old one with a cigarette and, as Justin liked to tell it, nearly burned the entire building down. It’s the blanket Justin tucked around Brian as he napped on the sofa following his radiation treatments, the blanket Brian would often find Justin wrapped up in when he got home from work. It’s the blanket they’d covered themselves with once while the entire gang was over, and Brian had slowly jerked Justin off in front of everybody, had bitten back his smile as Justin struggled to maintain a straight face and make conversation with Michael about the next issue of _Rage_ and with Lindsay about his latest art project.

Brian, who had once said his loft was only big enough for one person, now knew the truth. He’d been building this kingdom not for himself, as he’d always said. He’d been building this kingdom for them. This is where _they_ lived. This is who _they_ are. This is where _they_ love and loved and will love. There’s no going back now, no going back to the loft as it had been before it was them. This kingdom is theirs, and, just as they’ve always done, they can only go forward. 

Brian’s cell goes off, and he answers it on the first ring. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” Justin replies. “Just wanted to let you know I’m here.” 

Brian looks around, takes in the clock and the chair and the blanket. He sees all the places Justin’s touched, where they’ve danced and kissed and fucked. He hears Justin’s laugh trilling over his own, their moans merging together. He still catches phantom whiffs of his scent in the air. He still tastes him on his lips, on his tongue, even after denying himself one last kiss before parting. And, Christ, _Christ_ , does he feel.

“Yeah,” Brian agrees. “You are.”


End file.
